Skin

International House of Pain

It had been a long day. Michele was nearing the end of a double shift, working opening to close. Sneaking her phone out of her pocket, the flash of pink and glitter starkly contrasting with the matte, chocolate brown of her hand, she checked the time. Ten minutes. She sighed inwardly, pocketing her phone. She made a brief show of fixing her light pink and grey striped shirt and blue apron, ignoring the creases. Not that there was really any fixing that garbage uniform. She felt a moment's dislocation as she thought of all the times she'd been in a Starbucks or Burger King, and how she had always thought of uniforms and name badges as something that happened to other people.

The last few customers were refusing to take the hint, ignoring the chairs being stacked on tables next to them, caught up in their conversations. Michele hated having to verbally remind them of the time and there were some she was sure would require that, tonight. There was the guy in the suit in the booth at the back, that old couple, the gaggle of kids who'd been here since school got out, on one cola each. Great, another late close. That was just par for the course today it seemed; everything that could go wrong had gone wrong. Obscene traffic had made her five minutes late, for the first time since starting as a server nearly a month ago, and in the rush to be on time she'd rolled in the door glowing with sweat and with her hair messed up. Every customer had seemed to have some weird requirement for their order, or had a problem with the food, and the kitchen had kept fucking up the orders, which, of course, she caught the shit for from the customers. Today was apparently international 'fuck tipping' day. To top it all off, Roberto and Evelyn had both been uncharacteristically stern with her all day, even though she had agreed to work a double shift at short notice.

Having done everything else she could do, Michele gritted her teeth and headed over to the group of kids, who went silent and then exploded with laughter as she approached. The sting of being the butt of some group of high schooler's jokes apparently didn't get any gentler when you were out of high school yourself. The aggravation she felt gave her the impetus to bark a bit more forcefully than usual "Okay, you don't have to go home but you can't stay here, scoot" as she started picking up glasses and clearing away the notepaper and other detritus of the group's evening. Michele smiled inwardly when she saw that this interaction had been enough to spur the old couple to creakily haul themselves to their feet, smiling warmly and with many a 'thank you' and a 'good night'. No tip though, Michele noted, and it went without saying that the kids had left nothing but chewing gum on the table.

Turning to the last customer and taking a moment to wipe the perspiration from her brow, a stray bang from her cheek and to force a plastic smile onto her face, Michele approached, her hands habitually wiping on her apron, as they often did when she was nervous. She had avoided this table, not really knowing why but now she realised that this guy intimidated her. Smartly dressed in a fitted light grey business suit, and a black, button down shirt, the man looked out of place sitting in a booth at an IHOP. No watch, no jewellery, but the fit and material of the suit spoke of wealth. Features which would be handsome if not for their aquiline severity; a sharp chin, strong nose, high cheekbones and a jaw disguised by the neatly trimmed, charcoal black beard which was the only hair above the neck; his head was shaved. He was staring evenly at Michele with steel blue eyes that were cold and hard, belying the half smile that twisted his lips.She was halfway through mumbling "excuse me, sir...." when Roberto came up behind her, and she almost yelped, jumping with a start when she felt his large hand on her shoulder.

"Go and cash up, Michele" he said, in his heavily accented, deep timbre. The suited man had continued staring at her during this exchange, he hadn't looked at all ready to budge even before Roberto had come over. Glancing over her shoulder as she walked over to the register, Michele saw Evelyn join the two men at the booth and caught Roberto turning to look at her in response to something the suited man had said. For some reason, this caused a shiver of discomfort to snake its way coldly down her spine.